Black Ties and White Lies

So the next time you find that you’re comparing yourself to other women, don’t. There’s never been anyone else. Just you.

“You’re my fiancée,” he growls. “The only bed you’ll be sleeping in is the one in my room.”

I’d call anywhere home if it meant I was with her, because my home is no longer a physical place. My home is her.

I’ll let her talk about our future all night if she wants to. The excitement is like a caress to my heart because there was a time I wondered if I’d ever have a present with her. I tried not to be too hopeful for a future.

But now, that’s exactly what we have.

I’ll spend the rest of my life loving Margo Moretti.

I can’t fucking wait.

, I’d love to move out here. To have an actual home—one where we can raise the basketball team of children I want to have with her.

“I should’ve guessed. That’s the biggest one.”

“You know me so well,” I joke.

“It’s kind of a shame. I liked the sex above the city.”

“You can visit me at my office any time and we can make that happen.”

“Promise?”

“Hell yeah, Violet.”

I like planning a future with you, Beckham Sinclair.”

“Let’s do it for the rest of our lives, Margo Moretti.”

No,” she answers innocently. “I just want everyone to see that you’re off the market. That you’re mine.”

“I think anyone could see the way I look at you and know that I’m hopelessly, madly, desperately in love with you.”

Our first kiss felt like a promise of the possibility of more. This kiss is a promise of forever.